The Healing Touch
by Reiven
Summary: Gen-fic. Balkov always prided himself on being all supreme and commanding. So how exactly will he go about nursing a sick and crabby team captain?


_Standard disclaimer applies._

**Title**: The Healing Touch.  
**Genre**: Humour.  
**Rating**: General.  
**Characters**: Balkov, Yuriy and mentions of Neoborg.  
**Summary:** Balkov always prided himself on being all supreme and commanding. So how exactly will he go about nursing a sick and crabby team captain?

* * *

**The Healing Touch**  
_-- By Reiven --_

"Balkov, sir."

The director in question, currently undertaking an almost impossible task of removing grapefruit stain from his new, white undershirt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He should have been used to this by now, by some grace of the all mighty, since the whole 'Balkov, sir' has been going on for the past two days. It was a good thing that he'd caught the brat Stanislav before he actually went and purchased that bell Yuriy had so desired. He could just imagine that scenario in his minds eye.

God, he hated kids…not just any kids, sick kids. More specifically, sick Yuriy Ivanov, his current reigning captain. If not for the small fact that he was the captain, he would have had him fed to the wolves the moment that cough reached his ears.

"Balkov, sir."

"What is it now, Ivanov? Is the soup not alphabetically correct enough for you?" he almost snapped, but being the designated director of the world renowned Neoborg, he had to have some sense of self control. Even though said self-control was sorely being tested at the moment.

"I need a glass of water. Mountain spring, room temperature…in a crystal glass, no bubbles."

"Did I not get you a glass of water at my last visit?" Balkov was not a man known for his patience and tolerance, but for some unknown reason, there was just something about Yuriy that he could not say no to…he'd had contemplated the reason to being the redhead's known temperamental outbursts. Meaning he would pout, nag, whine and refuse to train with the rest of the team. Balkov always managed to get him to train against his will, but it was the nagging, whining, pouting and frequent death glares aimed his way that usually got to him.

"A fly fell into it. You don't want me to poison myself with a fly in my drink do you?"

The word 'yes' teetering dangerously on the tip of his tongue, he managed to hold back. How exactly would he look if he, as a well-respected (at least by some) director of the abbey getting into a verbal dispute with the teenage captain of his own team?

Resigning himself to the fact that if he wanted to get a decent sleep tonight without the nightmare of Yuriy haunting him in his sleep, he would swear on his mothers grave that the boy had special powers. He would swear on his mother's grave anyway, but that was beside the point.

"That is the last thing you will receive from me, Yuriy, keep that in mind. I am not your personal nurse."

He received no answer to that, and for some reason, he knew that this would not be the end. After all, this was one of the clauses he'd agreed to when he sighed the contract. Perhaps there had been something more sinister in the small print…?

"You could retrieve my cell phone from my room while you're at it? I need to call Kai."

Balkov almost gnashed his teeth. Give an inch and they demand the whole yard. He never liked Yuriy, or Kai…he liked them even less when they were together. After the whole Black Dranzer saga, he'd expected his load to lighten up a little, how wrong he was.

"Sir?"

"Why are you not asleep, boy?" he was sure he asked the doctor to administer a larger dose of tranquilliser, and by large, he'd expected the amount to be enough to put a rabid elephant down. After all, one sick and crabby Yuriy had more destructive power than a whole herd of elephants.

"I can't sleep on just any pillow. You should know that by now. Speaking of which, you wouldn't mind fetching my--"

"Do I really have any choice in the matter?"

"Oh, and my phone credit could use--"

His did not hear the rest of the sentence as he'd chosen to slam the door of the infirmary at that exact moment. Damn those blasted teenagers. Could God have not just skipped the whole growing up phase of human evolution and went straight to the being an adult part?

"Balkov, sir?"

Oh, good heavens. Balkov almost groaned. Had he no escape from Yuriy's blasted requests. But now that he really concentrated on the voice, he managed to determine that it was not Yuriy's voice, a fact that he rejoiced to, but that moment was quickly squashed when he realized that it was the other 'whiner' on the team.

"What is it, Ivan? Will Ivanov continue to torment me even when I am nowhere around him?"

"Yuriy?" the short boy raised an eyebrow in a bemused manner, "I don't think I get what you mean."

"Forget it. So what was it you had to tell me?" for some reason, he had a particularly tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach as the words left his lips. But it wasn't as if his day could get any worse.

"Well, I guess there's this bug going around the abbey. You know, the one Yuriy caught."

Suppressing the groan from escaping, Balkov suspected that he knew where this conversation was going. He'd rather have to deal with ninety-percent of the abbey population being sick than taking care of one Yuriy. The rest of the boys were not important enough to care too much about and thus, knew not to demand any special treatment. Maybe he could stick them all into the same infirmary and pretend he could not hear Yuriy's voice over the commotion. He felt a little elated at the thought.

"Boris caught it too."

It took just one sentence to send his euphoria crashing to the ground.

"Boris Kuznetsov?"

He should have known better than to get his hopes up prematurely. Now if there was one person even worse to have sick than Yuriy that would be the Boris Kuznetsov. The lilac-haired teenager tended to get more crabby and pissy when he was sick and was even more prone to various acts of vandalism and causing bodily harm upon all unsuspecting peons that crossed his path.

"No, the other one."

He took note of the leering tone in the sardonic boys voice and resisted the urge to smack him upside the head.

"And he wants everyone to keep a safe distance from his room at all times."

"He said that?" Balkov found that highly unbelievable.

"Not in so much words. More along the lines of _'step forth and DIE!'_"

"Ah. Get to Ivanov's room and retrieve his cell phone, his pillow and get him a glass of mountain spring water in a crystal glass at room temperature."

This was just too much for him to take. One sick hormonal teenager was enough. One sick, hormonal teenager and Boris Kuznetsov was just ludicrous.

"Where are you going, sir? And what about Boris? He's already threatening the guards with disembowelment if they so much as look at him the wrong way."

"I'm taking my much needed vacation. If Boris acts up too much…send him to Voltaire. I'm sure the old coot would love some company."

"But--"

"No buts. Get to work now otherwise you're off the team. Oh, and inform me if any important death occurs."

Balkov made up his mind. There comes a time in one person's life when they must fight and take a stand, otherwise leave their butt prints in the sand.

His time was now. To hell with Yuriy, Boris and Voltaire, he was human too and he deserved a break from time to time, and anyone who believed otherwise would just come and kiss his butt.

Too many butt reference…he definitely needed a break.

Two sick Neoborg were just three people too many. He meant that in a literal way.

**-- Owari --**


End file.
